The Wrong Places
by Maddy Carr
Summary: In Narnia, life was a lot more simple than either Peter or Edmund realised.  Back in England, they discover there is something they had never discussed, something they have both been keeping secret.  Something which has been denied them.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **All standard disclaimers apply. I do not own Peter or Edmund Pevensie, Oxford University, the Eagle & Child, or anything else that resembles anything real. Please don't sue!

**Rating:** M for Mature. I've rated it this because of the subject matter, but there is nothing explicit here, no naughty words, no violence, and no slash. In fact, Peter can barely manage to say anything about the subject matter either (the little prude) so it may as well be rated K! The second chapter may well be a bit racier as Edmund isn't quite as buttoned up as his brother.

**Important Author's Note**. I have rated this as Mature - not because anything particularly explicit happens in the story, but because it does involve discussion of mature issues. I also felt that this one needed a bit of an introduction as it arose out of my rather odd thoughts regarding the friends of Narnia and…virginity. Before you all start looking at me strangely from the corners of your eyes, I will explain. Setting aside for a moment (if I may), the undeniable fact that the Narnia sequence was written for children, my reading of the subtext is that Peter, Edmund, Lucy, Eustace, Jill, Digory and Polly all live and die virgins. Eustace and Jill are obvious - they are too young and will never get any older. Digory and Polly die unmarried, and while I'm not making any assumptions about unmarried persons, neither is there any indication that they do more than live healthily active and useful lives and (in the Professor's case) pursue intellectual and spiritual endeavours.

The four Pevensies are more problematic because they grow to be mature adults, before reverting again to children. Without wishing to be icky about it, it's bad enough being an adult in a child's body, but worse, I would think, being a sexually active adult reverting to childhood. Lewis skirts over this very lightly indeed, as well he might. My personal feeling is that in all he does not say, he is deliberately keeping them 'pure'. The only exception is Susan, who is the only one of the four who comes anywhere near a relationship (i.e. Rabadash) as well as her (hopefully temporary) exclusion from Aslan's country because she is "a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up".

So if we accept their 'purity' as a central, if unspoken, plot thread, then it occurred to me that I had a golden opportunity to weave it into a narrative. I their chastity accidental, or does it come from Aslan? This is my take on this issue and revolves around Peter and Edmund and how they come to realise that they have little interest in physical desire. I don't include Lucy as I think that it is quite obvious in the books that she has dedicated herself to Aslan (at least to my mind - please feel free to disagree).

I would be very pleased to hear anybody else's opinions on this matter as I think it quite an interesting one.

Also my apologies in advance to anyone who has no knowledge of, or interest in cricket - I couldn't get Edmund to stop talking about it!

Oh, and please don't laugh at them too much - poor boys, they can't help it!

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Peter**

**Merton College, Oxford. June 21****st****, 1948.**

Peter was lounging on his bed listening to Mendelssohn on the wireless when Rupert Forster stuck his head around the partially open door,

"Telephone call for you, old boy", he drawled in his languid manner, "it's that gorgeous sister of yours. Susan, is it?"

Peter felt twin stabs of disgust and anger at his associate's words, but kept the emotions off his face with the ease of long practice.

"I wouldn't get too accustomed to your face, Forster", he drawled in response, taking his time in standing, "If you say that sort of thing too often, it may get rearranged".

Forster took the calmly delivered threat with a smirk and a shrug,

"Well, I wouldn't want to upset the happy little family dynamic", he said as Peter passed him in the doorway, "Besides, no-one takes me at all seriously, you know? Everybody knows the Pevensies are pure as the driven snow".

Peter merely raised an eyebrow in a superior manner, but felt the all too familiar pang of anxiety all the same. Forster had an unhappy knack of hitting on people's vulnerabilities, however inadvertent. Most of the time, Peter was at peace with what he was, but occasionally could be taken by surprise by random comments. It was a reminder that he was somewhat…different from his contemporaries and that was a difficult thing to be, in this England.

He clattered down the winding staircase to the Senior Common Room, his long legs taking the old, worn steps two or three at a time. Grabbing the heavy receiver, he wondered what Susan could be calling him about at this strange hour.

"Hello?"

"Peter, darling!"

"Hello Su! What are you doing calling in the evening, shouldn't you be out somewhere being wined and dined?"

His sister laughed at him, but it seemed forced, as it often was these days. She was twenty now, but usually so sophisticated and elegant, she seemed even older. Peter could remember a time when she had been older still, but fresher, warmer and infinitely more beautiful,

"Oh, don't tease Peter, dear! I'm not always out - besides I'm having a lovely evening in with Edmund and Lucy, just like we used to - do you remember?"

Peter's face relaxed into a smile because she sounded so much like the gentle Susan that had a special place in his heart. He may have been all of twenty-one, but he suddenly missed his family with an acuteness that took him by surprise. He imagined his siblings curled up on the sofa, playing cards or chatting idly, with the wireless on in the background as father worked, quiet and content in his study and mother carefully tallied up the day's rationing vouchers at the dining room table.

"Of course I do. Give them my love, won't you?"

"You'll see them yourself next week - don't forget we're all coming up for the public day. We have to come to you now that you aren't coming home for the summer", she teased lightly.

Peter still felt a bit uncomfortable with his decision, also half-ashamed by his homesickness, "you know I have to Su! I don't want the College to regret appointing me as a Research Fellow, particularly as I've only just graduated. I have a devil of a lot of work to prepare before Michaelmas term, but I might be able to come down to London in September".

"Of course we know you have to, silly! Don't worry so much, we are all so proud of you. You'll soon become a great scholar and rival dear Professor Kirke", she said affectionately. Peter was simultaneously warmed by her tone and made irrationally irritated by her casual mention of the Professor. His dearest memories of Narnia were inextricably bound up in the Professor and his house and that she would bring him up, yet deny she had ever visited Narnia seemed wrong and unnatural. Her tone didn't waver, she seemed unaffected, and he could only wonder in disbelief at her capacity for denial.

She was his sister and he loved her, just as she loved him and the rest of the family. Yet he could not share his most precious and vivid memories and thoughts with her and he could feel the distance between them grow larger each time they met. She must have felt it too, but both pretended that things between them were as they had always been.

"I don't know about that", was all he ventured in response. If his tone was flat, she didn't call him on it.

"Well it's true all the same! But Peter, it's really the public day I'm calling about…sort of". Her voice sounded hesitant, an unusual state for the normally poised young lady,

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's Ed".

Peter felt a surge of anxiety. "What about Ed? He's still coming, isn't he?"

"Oh yes, of course. I just wondered if…well I know you are awfully busy, but it occurred to me that you might like to…invite him up there for a couple of days? Either before or after the public day, if it suited".

Peter stared at the well-worn rug on the common room floor, his brow knitted in a frown. Susan was, and always had been prone to fits of protectiveness and for some reason best known to herself, it was not Lucy but Edmund who was the most usual target. She was obviously deep in one of her fits right now.

"What's up, Su? Is Ed all right?"

"Ye-es".

Peter blinked, "you don't sound sure".

"I'm not, really. I think he's awfully upset about something but he won't talk to _me_ about it. I think it would do him good to get away from here for a few days, and maybe if you talk to him?" She trailed off hopefully and it occurred to Peter that she was really very sweet sometimes. As for Edmund, his solemn younger brother was very rarely outright cheerful in demeanour, so if Susan thought he was upset, he must be like a wet weekend.

"What's going on Su?"

She sighed, "Well, I don't know for sure, but if it isn't something to do with that awful Margaret Hopkins, I'll eat my hat!"

Hello, this was new. Peter felt his eyebrows rise in surprise.

"A girl?"

Susan laughed quietly and indulgently, "He is eighteen, Peter! You remember what that was like", it was a statement, not a question.

"Yes", he said, only he didn't really. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or sad that Edmund apparently did. "It's a recent thing for him, though isn't it?"

Peter remembered the Easter break when he'd come down for the scant week he could manage amidst his revision for finals. He'd spent some time with Edmund, as much as he could spare really as he'd secretly missed his younger brother more than anyone else in the family. He'd seen nothing amiss, or different, but how much could one tell in the space of a week? Peter wondered, with a pang, whether they had somehow lost that easy camaraderie and trust they'd always shared in Narnia. He decided that whatever it was that Susan had to say, he'd have Edmund up on a visit regardless. His brother would be joining him up at Oxford in September, but even so, that seemed a long way off.

"Not that recent! He's not like you, Peter", Susan said quickly, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. Peter realised with considerable surprise that she'd taken his words as mild criticism, an implication that Edmund was rather late in taking an interest in girls. The irony was remarkable.

"Of course!" he replied soothingly, but Susan either didn't listen, or felt she hadn't made her point sufficiently clear,

"I seem to remember seeing flocks of blushing damsels dogging your steps from about the age of fifteen! And you were so polite to them, too. No wonder they kept coming back. Edmund is...well he is sweet and kind, _we_ know that, but he doesn't have your confidence, Peter".

Peter, bemused, wondered how he came to be in the position of having Edmund defended against him.

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know, Su. Are you telling me he found some confidence?" He couldn't help the intense curiosity in his voice. King Edmund hadn't lacked confidence at all, but he had been serious and rather solemn at times. Plain Edmund Pevensie was the same endearing chap with his family, but in company was a rather _piano_ version of this royal self. So much so, that all the insecurities he'd so beautifully overcome in Narnia had come creeping back, much to Peter's sorrow. It was like seeing Edmund in sunlight, then being forced to see him only in moonlight - and England was the moon.

"Well, I think so. He met Margaret at a party, which he hadn't been all that keen on going to in the first place, but I dragged him there because he risked being terribly rude to his friends if he didn't. She managed to get him talking and he actually took her out the following day!"

Peter thoughtfully pursed his lips at this unprecedented behaviour from his younger brother.

"Did he?"

"Well, it was only to have coffee at that little place in Muswell Hill, but he _did_ take her to the pictures the following week. In fact, I'd say he was awfully keen on her.

_...awfully keen..._

The words echoed through his head and Peter wondered at the sense of loss they gave him, then he hated himself for his selfishness.

"So what happened? She wasn't so keen, I take it?"

"Something like that. They were supposed to have gone to a party at the beginning of the week, but Edmund came home early and shut himself in his room. He won't tell me anything, but he's not been himself since – he's _really_ down, Peter. I really don't know what happened, but his face has been sort of...closed in. You know?"

Peter did know, all too well, what Edmund looked like when he was hurt and unhappy.

"So, whether it's unfair to her or not, I decided that Margaret must have said something nasty to him, because I can't imagine Ed doing anything awful. Lucy's noticed as well, and you _know_ she never showed much interest in that sort of thing when we..." Susan tailed off and Peter wondered if she had been about to mention Narnia,

"…that is, she _doesn't _show much interest in these things", Susan finished, rather too quickly for conviction.

Peter, torn between gratitude at her sweet and earnest defence of Edmund and disappointment that her continued denial of Narnia was apparently a _conscious_ decision on her part, made no response. Eventually he said,

"Get Ed to the 'phone, would you Su? I'll ask him now, if you like".

"I _would_ like", replied Susan, obviously relieved, "but, perhaps it would be better if you telephoned tomorrow to ask him - I don't want him to think we're ganging up on him, or that it wasn't your idea in the first place".

Peter hated manipulating Edmund - who hated it in his turn, but was sufficiently stung by Susan's inadvertent accusation that he would never have invited Ed of his own volition, to agree to the suggestion. Besides, he had plenty to think about before tomorrow.

**

* * *

**

**Oxford Train Station, June 25****th****, 1948.**

"Oh thank Aslan you asked me!" said Edmund, grinning, as Peter released him from the brief, back-slapping half-hug that was all they allowed themselves in public, "Susan was driving me insane. I was tempted to drop everything and go and do my National Service after all, if they would take me immediately".

Peter grinned back, quite delighted to see Edmund again, and grateful they could slip into such ease with each other despite the separation.

"I'd have enjoyed that just to see her face! Lucy would have come after you, though".

Edmund rolled his eyes, gathering up the battered suitcase from the platform. "Don't I know it! I thought she was going to lock me in my room when I first mentioned it last Christmas".

Peter smiled in response, but didn't comment as he had felt exactly the same way as his little sister, if truth be told. Edmund had some strange idea in his head to defer his Oxford entry and do his stint of National Service instead. As an undergraduate, he would not obliged to do military service, but obviously felt he ought to. Peter could understand it in a way – he was a warrior himself, and sometimes the desire to be _doing_ far outweighed his love of scholarship, but there was something utterly different and alienating about warfare in this world they lived in. Lucy felt the same way and surprised everyone in her fierce determination that Edmund wasn't going to be chewed up and spat out by the great military machine. Edmund, who had only wanted to be doing his duty, eventually capitulated.

The day was hazy but warm and humid. Already, traffic was building up on the Hythe Bridge and petrol fumes hung in the air. Peter automatically skirted the main roads and walked towards the quieter Paradise Street bridge which would lead them to the Christ Church meadow and around the back of Merton College. Edmund trotted in his wake, obviously content to follow wherever Peter led.

Peter surreptitiously scanned his brother's face as they walked – he looked tired, but that was quite normal for the restless Edmund. He also looked rather thin, but again that was normal,

"Anything new going on?" Peter asked casually, maintaining his discrete observation.

Edmund's face brightened immediately, "Oh, I didn't tell you! I bowled a few overs at the match against Primrose Hill the other day. No wickets and no maidens, but I did hold out for a couple of singles, so I wasn't _too_ costly..."

Peter smiled, letting the excited cricket associated chatter wash over him. Edmund loved the game and played it at every opportunity. With his lanky frame and quick fingers, he could produce a very decent leg spin and the Finchley Cricket Club had taken him on as a reserve bowler - he just lacked the experience and consistency now, but was quickly learning.

That Edmund had so naturally and easily launched into his tale considerably relieved Peter's mind. Surely he couldn't be depressed if he could happily talk about cricket? There wasn't any restraint in his manner at all. Peter began to wonder if Susan hadn't let her fervent interest in relationships get the better of her good judgement.

"We can go and see a cricket match today if you like?" said Peter impulsively. He liked this cheerful, eager Edmund and he wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. Maybe the volume of work had got to him lately, but he had forgotten how _right_ everything felt when Edmund was with him - that familiar sensation of everything locking into place like an intricate puzzle, that wash of relief lightening the tension in his shoulders. He realised that he had never yearned for anymore than that, with _anybody_ - and that was part of the problem.

"Oh, I say! Really?" Edmund turned a bright, excited face to him that he couldn't resist. If he'd had any other plans for the day, they were already forgotten.

"It's not much", said Peter deprecatingly, "just a match between the Fellows of Magdalene and Corpus Christi - they have a small college competition going when the undergrads have gone home for the summer".

Edmund gaped at him, "Magdalene? Really? Well, come on then, what are we waiting for?"

Peter had been so much involved in his own College, he'd almost forgotten that Edmund would be coming up to Magdalene in the autumn. It was as very strange thing to slip his mind and Peter wondered if, unconsciously, he had been disappointed that Edmund hadn't chosen to join him at Merton. He was also starting to wonder when, exactly, he had started to become so detached from his family that such a slip was possible.

"We'll drop your case off at my rooms first, then we can nip across the High Street to Magdalene - the match is there because they've got the better cricket pitch".

"I know!" came Edmund's fast and fervent answer. Peter felt his jaw drop open in surprise and he stared as his little brother rapidly turned red. Peter felt bubbles of laughter rise up in him,

"Please tell me you didn't apply to Magdalene because of the…cricket pitch?"

Edmund, still red, looked away sheepishly. "Umm…" he said, eloquently.

Feeling better than he had in months, Peter gave a great shout of laughter and playfully batted his blushing brother's head. Edmund laughed with him, his eyes dancing and a look of relief on his face. Why Edmund should feel relieved rather escaped Peter, but he would come to understand it later.

**

* * *

**

**Magdalene Grove, later the same day.**

It was a golden afternoon in many ways - the match was gentle and absorbing with just enough edge of competition to keep it interesting. After chatting to the teams at afternoon tea, they finally lounged back on their elbows, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine as the last few overs played out in front of them.

For all the setting was perfect, Peter began to feel increasingly uncomfortable as the afternoon wore on. He and Edmund talked easily about the game, about the Colleges, but there were still topics that Peter avoided as a matter of course - things he had learned to avoid when talking to his contemporaries. Love, girls, sex…And bound up with these was what he had learned about Edmund from Susan. He had never reached a point in the conversation where he felt comfortable broaching the topic, yet his sister's words haunted him. The fact was, he and Edmund had shared everything in Narnia - except this. It had not been deliberate; they had never avoided the subject of sex, or desire, or jealousy, or any of the other emotions associated with romantic relationships, the subjects had simply never come up. At least, not in a personal way. It had never seemed relevant or important.

How much theses things _did_ matter in England had come as a shock to Peter. He had found it alienating and disturbing at first, then he began to realise that _he _was the one who was odd. Some strange sense of embarrassment, a desire to conform (especially when he was already so different!) had held his tongue, stifled his curiosity. Somehow, he managed to keep avoiding discussions and found ways to camouflage himself. And…he and Edmund had still never discussed the topic.

He had excused himself on the grounds of Edmund's youth, but that feeble excuse no longer held water. He supposed he was just plain scared - he wanted to keep seeing respect and pride and love in Edmund's eyes.

Now it was suddenly falling apart. The afternoon had started so well, but his tongue had become increasingly constrained until he scarcely knew what he said. His long silences were obvious and uncomfortable. Now, as he watched a new over start, he anticipated the end of the match with dread, aware of the increasingly anxious glances Edmund was throwing in his direction.

Peter kept his eyes glued to the action, as though it was the most exciting finale he had ever seen. In fact, Corpus Christi were futilely chasing Magdalene's second innings lead and on their last batsman, were obviously not going to do it - but everybody was too polite to say. It couldn't last long, and didn't, with a short, fast, ball that caught an edge and fell to the wicket keeper; he and Ed joined in the smattering of applause.

Peter stared at the disappearing players and felt horribly self-conscious. He didn't know what was wrong with him - this was _Edmund_. He had thought he could talk to his brother about anything, but today had given the lie to that and he was left confronting something he'd never confronted before.

"Well…" he started, then cleared his throat and sat up straight. He _hated_ this. "That was…"

"Pete…" Edmund's voice was low, strained, almost desperate. It froze Peter in his place.

"God…Peter…what have I done?"

Peter's throat closed in horrified disbelief and he whipped his head around to stare at Edmund's lowered face. His brother was staring down at clenched fists, his brow scrunched. He looked terribly unhappy.

_You've done this_…_you've done this to him…_

"I…" he began, but didn't know how to continue.

Edmund threw him another of those anxious, half-frightened looks, then he returned to the contemplation of his hands.

"I've been so worried about you, Peter", he began, his voice rapid and breathless as though half-afraid of what he said. "For months, you've been…not there. I mean, you don't talk to me much anymore, you hardly talk to anyone, you don't come home. I _know_ you've been busy, but you were always busy before…in Narnia, I mean…and you always had time for me too, so I thought I must have…I thought, maybe it was something I'd done, or said, or…"

"No…" said Peter, but it came out as a whisper from his dry mouth.

Edmund looked at him then, terribly earnest,

"I was so pleased when you telephoned last week to invite me up. And relieved. I thought, when I got here…you were so _normal_…I thought I must have been imagining everything and I felt like a fool. Then you…" he trailed off again and swallowed hard. Peter saw a suspicious shine in Edmund's eyes and swore there and then that Ed would never, _never_ find out that it wasn't his elder brother's idea to invite him up to Oxford. Peter was fairly sure, now, that Edmund would have waited a long time for an invitation if Susan hadn't been involved. It had been unconscious, but he _had_ been slowly detaching himself from his family.

"It's not you, Ed. I swear it. It's not you". Whatever else happened now, he could at least stop his brother from punishing himself for no reason. He looked back at Edmund, hoping to see the effect of his words, but the expected relief was not there,

"The thing is", Edmund said hesitantly, "you say it's not me, but if it's something else, it's not something you trust me to help you with. It's not something you trust me enough to _speak_ of. What's so awful, you can't even tell _me_, Peter?"

Peter stared back at him for a long time before admitting to himself that Edmund was right. He _hadn't_ trusted his brother enough. He hardly knew where to start with any of this, but he realised now that his continued silence was hurting his brother more and that was something he couldn't begin to tolerate.

"Well", he said, terrified of the decision he had made, but calm now that he had made it, "Well, then". He stood and reached down a hand to Edmund who was staring at him, half-hurt, half-bemused. He held up his arm automatically and Peter heaved him to his feet.

"Pub", said Peter.

"What?" Edmund shook his head as though he barely understood what was going on.

"Pub", repeated Peter. "If I'm going to do this, I'm doing it with a drink in my hand".

Edmund's mouth dropped open, then slowly closed as a strange look came into his eyes; a hint of anxiety, a large dose of relief and something that may have been amusement. He tipped his head to one side, eyes narrowed, and faintly smirked,

"All right", he said slowly, "as long as you're not going to confess that you have a drinking problem. Then I'd be worried".

Peter's mouth curved in a warm, affectionate smile as he realised that _this_ Ed, the witty, sardonic one, had, until this moment, been missing altogether.

**

* * *

**

**The Eagle & Child Pub, the evening of the same day.**

They went to the Eagle & Child, for no particular reason other than it seemed the quietest pub they passed on their stroll along Broad Street and St. Giles. Inside it was warm and dark and it stank of hops and pipe smoke, so in that respect it was typical of every other pub in Oxford. Edmund found them a quiet table in the corner, beneath a faded print of a man in Royalist costume in a gilded frame, and Peter fetched two pints of beer, dark brown and foamy.

They sat; stared at each other, then at the beer. Murmured conversations swirled around them and Peter could hear a clock ticking gently in the background.

"So…do I have to guess?" Ed's voice barely concealed his irritation with Peter's long silence.

Peter sighed and took a fortifying gulp.

"I don't know where to start", he said when he'd swallowed the warm, yeasty mouthful.

Edmund's eyes opened a little wider as though in alarm, "The beginning's usually a good place".

Peter sighed again. He'd known this would be hard, but he'd underestimated quite _how_ hard. "I don't know where to find the beginning. Is it here? In Narnia? Was it Aslan's doing, or is it just me?"

Edmund's obvious irritation had, if anything, increased. And his alarm.

"Peter! Just start _somewhere_ and tell me!"

"Right. All right". Peter closed his eyes, trying to find the best way to start. Edmund would have been so much better at this than him. "When we were…when_ I_ was fourteen, I had my first…no that's not a good place to start. Umm. When we were growing up…in Narnia, I mean…when we…umm. Actually, I'll ask you a question instead. Ed, when did you first…?"

"Peter…" Edmund grabbed his forearm and held it, his grip warm and strong. "You're rambling and you are not making any sense! Why are you asking _me_ questions? This is about you. Why is this so hard?"

"Because it's not just about me!" Peter said and stopped on an indrawn breath because he was realising something for the first time. "It's not just about me", he repeated quietly, leaning closer. "We never talked about this, not in Narnia and not here! I'm such an idiot, I never stopped to think that you might have been as confused as me when we had to go through it all again in England".

There was an arrested look in Edmund's eyes as he stared back at his brother,

"Confused about what?"

Peter ignored the question for the moment, still caught in his revelation, "There were so few humans around, we never really had a basis for comparison. We didn't know what was supposed to be _normal_".

"_Normal?_ Peter…" Edmund looked almost frightened in the dim light of the pub. Peter could see he was confused, and couldn't blame him, but there was also something there that made Peter think that Edmund was beginning to understand.

"Pevensie! And…Pevensie Two, if I'm not mistaken?"

The familiar drawl, too loud for the small room, stopped conversation momentarily and made Edmund start noticeably. Peter ground his teeth in frustration. It was bad enough tolerating Forster at College, without having to endure him in the rest of the city too!

He reluctantly turned to face Forster who was smirking at his own pun. Of all the bad timing.

"Ed, this is Rupert Forster".

The two perfunctorily shook hands, Edmund's mouth pulling into a frown as they did so. He nodded politely, but Peter thought his face daunting enough to put off almost anybody. _Almost_.

"We met once before, old boy. It may have been when you'd just come up - young Master Pevensie here was but a callow youth. I believe you are joining us in September?"

Forster drew up a chair, uninvited, and Peter longed to push it away with his foot, but sense prevailed. Forster just got worse if he sensed any discord.

"Ed's joining the flesh-pots at Magdalene", said Peter, referring to an old joke.

"Magdalene? Re-ally?" Forster drew out the word, studying Edmund appraisingly.

"And your brother a Merton man? Why, that practically makes you a traitor!"

Peter winced inwardly, but Edmund flinched quite visibly. Peter, feeling bad for his brother, and seething in impotent rage, clenched his fists under the table when he saw Forster's mouth stretch into a pleased smile. There was nothing Forster loved more than getting a more pronounced reaction than he had bargained for, and he had hit the jackpot this time. Never one to rest on his laurels, he shifted tactics.

"It's a pity you were out all day with the young sprig, Pevensie, you missed one of your lady callers".

Oh Lord, Forster never missed an opportunity to throw Peter's 'conquests' in his face. It was misplaced jealously at best, Peter had decided a long time ago.

Forster neither expected nor required an answer. "The comely Miss Marjorie Simpkin from St. Hilda's called around. Something to do with a graduate party at the Sheldonian of all places. I forget the details, but she left you a _billet doux_ with all the details and was vastly disappointed to have missed you". He finished with a sidelong look and a smirk.

Peter grimaced, not caring who saw him. Forster had set out to irritate him and succeeded very well indeed. Peter really didn't know why so many young women seemed so keen to become acquainted with him; some of them were so persistent, he ended up taking them out because it seemed rude not to. He always gently but firmly told them he was too busy at present for any formal courting - sometimes he was so firm, he was practically brutal. Yet, none of them ever got the hint. He thought he was probably doing something wrong somewhere, but was too used to reticence on the matter to know who or what to ask. Miss Simpkin was amongst the number who seemed to view rejection as a challenge.

"Really, Peter", continued Forster, with overdone camaraderie, "you shouldn't keep them all dangling so - I can hardly keep track of them! Why it was only yesterday that the pretty girl from the Post Office - Anne, isn't it? - came looking for you, with a 'personal' delivery".

Really, the man was an utter menace. It was all very well when _he_ was being insulted, but Peter couldn't bear it when he so casually damaged the reputations of those innocent girls. Peter hated to think what Edmund was making of all this, and glanced at his brother, quite determined now to end the conversation before it got worse.

He never got that far. Edmund was staring at him, quite white beneath his summer tan and looking sick to the stomach. The eyes of the brothers' locked and held. Aslan only knew what Ed read in his eyes, but he suddenly stood, abruptly and awkwardly, so that Peter's pint wobbled and sloshed beer over the table.

"Excuse me", said Edmund in a small, painfully formal voice, "I need some air". Then he strode out of the pub, practically pushing his way out of the door.

Peter, uncertain of the why of his brother's action, but feeling the tension like a knife against his throat also stood. Nothing else was more important than his brother any more - and certainly not his colleagues. He bent over until his mouth was level with Forster's ear and hissed,

"Talk to me again, Forster, about _anything_ and I won't be responsible for the consequences".

The sky was still a deep blue when he left the pub, but the light was fading and dew was beginning to form. Edmund had already crossed the road and was skirting St. John's College, his head down, striding back towards Cornmarket Street.

"Ed!" Peter called, not caring that heads turned in his direction. He ran across the road and easily caught his brother, grasping him by the arm and turning him around. That Edmund didn't resist told Peter that he wasn't seriously running away, but just needed to be moving.

"I'm sorry about Forster", Peter said rapidly. "He's a poisonous little squirt - I can't stand the fellow. I should have got rid of him straight away".

"It doesn't matter", Edmund replied, his voice still tight, so that Peter's throat ached in sympathy. "I'm sorry I walked out like that, I just couldn't…I mean…Oh, hang it all!" His voice ended in a half-shout of frustration.

"What is it?"

Edmund looked up then, his eyes pained and somehow rueful.

"It doesn't matter, Pete. I just realised that I'm a total hypocrite! I've been pestering you to tell me all your secrets, when I…when I…can't. You don't have to tell me anything. It doesn't matter".

Peter felt anxiety skitter rapidly over his skin, making him shiver, despite the mild evening air. He felt a little sick himself, but also hopeful, as if things that had been hidden for too long were finally coming to the surface.

"Stop saying it doesn't matter. Everything you have to say matters, Ed! What can't you tell me?"

Ed took a deep breath, closed his eyes tight, then opened them again and Peter could see all his brother's vulnerability in his eyes.

"Pete…I…it's not anything bad. _I _don't think it's bad. It's just…after what he said, and…I don't think you'd understand! I don't want you to think less of me!"

Well. Peter knew what that felt like.

"Ed", he said gently, touching his brother on the shoulder, "I could never think less of you. Not in any circumstances, I don't care what it is you think I won't understand".

Ed stared at him, eyes wide, then blurted out, "I hate girls!"

Peter felt a hysterical giggle rise up and had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop it escaping.

"What?" he managed, his voice only slightly unsteady.

Ed, who looked as though he couldn't believe his own daring said again. "I hate girls! I mean - I can't stand being close to them. They make my skin crawl. I can't kiss one without feeling ill!"

Peter had never, _ever_ wanted to laugh so badly at such an inappropriate moment. He scrunched his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on something depressing, but Edmund's blurted words kept replaying in his head. He belatedly realised that his actions probably looked bad, so he opened his eyes again only to be confronted with Edmund's wide-eyed and terrified stare. Then he had to turn his back and he hoped Ed couldn't see his shoulder's twitch as a few silent giggles escaped him.

"Pete?" Ed's quietly desperate voice successfully sobered him, but he couldn't help smiling when he turned back to his brother. He was so _relieved_.

After all that soul-searching and they were both in the same boat. They should have talked years ago.

He smiled wider and ignored Edmund's bemused expression, grasping his brother's arm and leading him back towards Merton,

"Come on, we've got a lot to talk about".

TBC

Coming soon: CHAPTER TWO: EDMUND. Wherein Edmund is a lot blunter than his brother and wonders what all the fuss was about.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**. If finally finished it! My apologies for the long wait, but Real Life was at fault, as always, plus a bit of writer's block which I seem to have overcome. I feel I should also warn you that this chapter is long and awfully talky! Nothing happens by way of plot, except that I get a bit obsessed with Edmund making tea. It very strange for me to have written anything with no semblance of plot, but the idea was obsessing me and needed to be written down. I would be pleased to hear anyone else's thoughts on the matter.

Oh, and I've changed the rating as it's all rather tame, really.

Enjoy!

**High Street, Oxford, June 25****th**** 1948. Evening.**

Edmund was sure Peter was laughing at him. He was disguising it well enough, but Edmund knew his brother very well and the soft huffs of air that occasionally escaped him were a dead giveaway – so was the fact that Peter insisted on walking a few paces ahead, so his face could not be clearly seen.

It was ridiculous! Edmund scowled at the pavement as they walked back to Merton. He didn't know what had got into him that he could so blithely humiliate himself in that way. And blurt it out in that childish manner too! He didn't really hate girls, but saying it like that seemed the only way to get his feelings across to Peter without lots of explanation – or maybe he had just been frustrated by Peter's inability to get to the point. He had worried about Peter's reaction for such a long time, that it seemed anticlimactic now. Well, to be honest, he hadn't expected the laughter, but it was probably better than disgust or derision.

If anything, Peter's laughter showed him to be either relieved or pleased, or both, which was a reaction Edmund had not anticipated at all, and certainly didn't understand. It had truly been a day of revelation in more ways than one. If he was honest, he was relieved that he had _finally_ said the words out loud, even if it was only half the truth.

Peter had said something in the pub about neither of them knowing what _normal_ was. He still didn't know what Peter had been specifically referring to, but it had rung a chord with him regarding his current preoccupations – especially the Margaret Hopkins disaster – and had precipitated him, well basically blurting out his hidden feelings on a street corner. Added to which, Forster's snide comments about Peter's girlfriends had thrown into sharp relief his own difference. No wonder he'd reacted as he had.

Humiliated and embarrassed he might be, but even now, he couldn't bring himself to be ashamed, and didn't see why he should be. Peter, unknowingly, had been perfectly right and that had occurred to Edmund many times before. He hadn't known what _normal_ was at all - his own physical maturity for one - he had only been ten years old when they'd arrived in Narnia and that was really too young to know what to expect. However, you don't go to an all-male school without picking up _some_ things, no matter how ill informed, so he'd known enough to not be alarmed when certain things developed! On occasion, he'd woken up feeling vaguely satiated and with sticky sheets, which surprised him, but didn't alarm him. Actually, it had felt quite in the run of things and his mind had not dwelt on the development very much - he certainly didn't remember his dreams. And later on, he'd occasionally pleasured himself, but it wasn't something that he had felt any great urgency to do, and he couldn't recall now what had triggered the occasions - for all he knew, it had probably been boredom or sleeplessness!

That was normal for him. He did not remember ever feeling uncomfortable or ashamed - if he had, he might very well have spoken to Peter, but he supposed that if Peter had wanted to tell him anything he should know, he'd have done so. Really, he had been too caught up in the business of being a king, a warrior and a judge to worry about mere physical changes.

And so, he had grown up. He had never thought there was anything lacking in is life and he had been remarkably happy, physically and emotionally. He tried to remember if he had ever thought of marriage or children, but couldn't think of any particular time when the thought had occurred, except in a vague, far-off sense. For royalty, marriage was rife with political and strategic implications and was not the simple expression of love that it was for his subjects; he had supposed it would happen some day, but was in no rush to do it - and he had never met anyone he had wanted to marry.

That should have been a clue, he realised now. He had never really felt desire for a woman - wasn't even very sure what that should feel like. He had desired knowledge, desired food and warmth, desired companionship and conversation, desired the love and respect of his family, but physical desire? Oh, he had _admired_ women - admired their beauty, even. He remembered a particularly graceful and delicate willow naiad who had come to Cair Paravel to plead for help in relocating to a home for her tree, nearer to a stream. He had forgotten her name now, but remembered how much he had enjoyed watching her pretty smile, and the way she dipped and swayed as though blown by a breeze, even within the walls of the Palace. Did his admiration mean he desired her? He doubted it very much.

And then they were back in England and had to grow up all over again. Only this time, with the example of his peers' constantly before him, her realised that _his_ normal was not theirs. It was only then he began to feel confused and uncomfortable and...well, whom could he talk to? Peter had always been his confidant, but this was different, somehow. Besides, Peter always seemed so happy and confident and had plenty of girlfriends and he would hide anything that meant Peter wouldn't worry about him, or – and this was the worst thought of all – _pity_ him.

Yet now, he'd blurted it out anyway, and that was Peter's fault too. When he'd come up on the London train that morning, he hadn't expected to end the day talking about himself; he had hoped that it would be Peter doing the talking. His relationship with Peter had been...not good over the past year, but he was not sure, even now, if Peter had any idea how hurt he had felt, or how lonely. Peter had subtly and gradually drawn himself away from his family, and it had been so subtle that he doubted his parents, or Susan, had noticed. _He_ had – and so had Lucy. Of course, he had remained their beloved brother, kind, thoughtful, protective – when he was with them. But those occasions had become rare and when he was back in Oxford, he became distant and detached, in more ways than the mere geographical. Edmund used to wait eagerly for the frequent letters and the weekly telephone conversations, but the letters had become terse and the telephone rang infrequently and Edmund was left with a gaping hole that could never quite be filled, even by mountains of school work and his little sister's loving attention.

So, Peter's telephone call a few days before had come like a reprieve from a long imprisonment. Edmund didn't even consider what might have prompted the invitation before accepting. It was enough that Peter _wanted_ to see him; maybe then he could lay to rest the doubts that had plagued him for months, the whisper in his mind that told him it was _his_ fault somehow, that he had done something that Peter could not forgive him for.

But Peter had greeted him happily, even enthusiastically at Oxford station, then their companionable walk, the teasing, the treat of the cricket game. Edmund's heart had swelled with relief and happiness for he had his brother back and he felt complete for the first time in months. He should have known better than to relax too soon – he had never made that mistake in battle, but he made it constantly with Peter; when he trusted, he trusted entirely too well. So, of course, as the afternoon had worn on, he was unprepared for the chasm between them to open up again. Peter had been...completely uncommunicative. His all too brief happy openness had fled and a tongue-tied, formal, stiff automaton had been left behind. Edmund's teasing was met with uncomprehending stares, his increasing desperate attempts to make Peter laugh either eliciting a polite smile, or nothing at all.

It had been excruciating and he hadn't known what to think. Was he boring his brother so completely, that he couldn't even summon the strength to be polite? Had he offended him? Worse of all, did Peter not trust him enough to speak what he really felt? In the end, Edmund had been unable to keep his feelings to himself – had shown for once how really unhappy he was – and Peter, in return, had opened up to him.

Or not, as it turned out.

How had they got from that to here? Here was his brother, strolling down the city streets, in an unaccountably good mood (and at _his _expense, thank you very much) and Edmund, having bared his soul, was still none the wiser on the condition of his brother's.

He may have looked eighteen, but he was really thirty-three and he wasn't going to stand for it! Edmund jogged a couple of paces to bring himself level with his brother. He could see the Radcliffe Camera up ahead on his left and mentally working out where they were, pulled on Peter's sleeve so that they went right into King Edward Street – much quieter at this time of the evening.

Peter's head came up in surprise, but he continued to smile and followed Edmund willingly enough. Edmund pulled them into the shadow of the high wall on their left, Oriel Square in front of them, the honey-coloured stone of the college buildings glowing in the last light of the day. It was quiet and traffic was light.

"Peter..." Edmund paused, suddenly not sure how to start with his brother smiling at him, so warm and easy.

"What?"

"I...I'm glad I've managed to make you laugh, even though I look like a right idiot, but I don't...understand what's going on! You were supposed to be telling _me_ something before that...what's-his-name...interrupted. Now, I'm suddenly the comic relief for the evening!" He tried to keep the hurt out his voice, he really did, but some of what he was feeling must have seeped through because Peter's face fell comically fast and he grasped Edmund's upper arm in a warm grip.

"Ed! I'm not laughing at you – I promise!"

Edmund replied with a sceptical look.

"_Really", _said Peter, his eyes soft with concern. "I'm laughing...well, at me!"

It was an odd answer, but Edmund was becoming frustratingly used to that from Peter. He felt no nearer understanding his brother than he had at the beginning of the day.

"...and...I'm sorry about Forster. He's a poisonous little toe-rag and likes to find everybody's weak spots..." Peter trailed off as Edmund flinched. He didn't mean to, but he was still feeling exposed and sensitive.

"Ed..." It was said with so much gentle compassion that Edmund had to look away. "...you can't possibly believe for a minute that I would think you were weak...or anything like that," his brother continued, "You _know _that!"

Edmund kept his eyes down. Well, Peter may not have hit a weak spot, but he'd found a sore spot sure enough. He also decided that he couldn't let it go – not when they were making progress.

"I don't _know_ anything!" he said, low and intense, surprising himself at the roughness of his voice. Peter froze, his hands involuntarily grasping Edmund's arms tighter.

"I don't know anything, because you don't talk to me anymore! When exactly was the last time you were interested in anything I had to say to you?"

Peter stared, speechless, his eyes wide with shock.

Edmund stared back, fighting the hurt and almost relishing the shock. He really didn't want to damage his relationship with Peter any further, but he had gone too far to draw back now.

"You are never there, Peter. Even when you're with us now, you're not there! Where do you go in your head that's so much better than being with us?"

It was half-shouted, incoherent, but Peter understood him well enough because Edmund could see the guilt darkening those blue eyes. That the guilt was there at all deepened the hurt. Edmund drew in a shuddering breath, closing his eyes against the knowledge of his brother's culpability, worn out from his day of lurching from one emotional extreme to the next. Afraid of what his brother would have to say, but afraid _for_ him too.

He waited for Peter's words, but he should have known that his brother never used words when actions would speak for him. Edmund found his face pressed against the soft cotton of Peter's shirt, warm arms wrapped around his back. It was done with an alacrity that belied any self-consciousness, or even sense of their surroundings – typical Peter – and that was enough in itself to make Edmund instantly relax against his brother's chest, all tension gone in an instant as though it hadn't been building for months at all. _Oh, it had been far, far too long_.

Peter's arms tightened and they stood on the pavement and rocked together, side-to-side, as though standing still was not enough to convey what they felt. So surrounded did Edmund feel that it took him a minute to notice the litany of words pouring softly from Peter's mouth.

"…_Ed, Ed, Ed…I'm so sorry…I didn't mean to….I'm such an idiot…so sorry…"_

Edmund could have wept with relief. Peter had always been more buttoned up than him when it came to expressing himself; less comfortable with emotional quick sands, more inclined to suffer in silence. He didn't always notice how his actions affected others, before it was too late. _Idiot_, thought Edmund, half in affection and half in genuine anger. _Idiot…_

He suspected the anger would be there for a while – there wasn't much he could do about it except ignore the squirming feeling in his stomach and never once stop to wonder if his faith had been rocked at all. He had forgiven Peter instantly because he didn't know how to do anything else. Weakly, he brought an arm up from where it dangled against his side, dislodging Peter's hold. He thumped Peter on the chest, none too gently,

"Talk to me!" he ordered.

Peter wasn't quite ready to smile, but affection softened his gaze and the grimness around his mouth. He reached up a hand and touched Edmund's hair gently, as though daring to ruffle it would frighten his brother away.

"I think," he said slowly, gazing beyond Edmund's shoulder, "I think I have been so entirely obsessed with my own situation, I never really thought about yours…" he trailed off, but was obviously far from finished so Edmund forbore to comment, even while his mind repeated the strange phrase in his head,

_My…situation?_

Peter's eyes flickered down to Edmund's face, assessing his reception. Edmund thought he might have caught the confusion because Peter's eyes tightened in obvious frustration,

"I don't know how to explain it properly anymore, Ed, but…I was so convinced that you would think less of me, I _couldn't_ explain it. I…I didn't think you would understand…"

Edmund was sincerely confused, but simultaneously further convinced of his brother's stupidity. Someone who didn't know Peter as well as he might have taken issue with the lack of faith that Peter's little speech implied, but Edmund knew that such heresy would never have passed through his brother's noble and overprotective head. Sometimes only the direct method worked…

Peter made to shift his eyes away from his brother's puzzled gaze yet again, but Edmund stilled his movements with a hand on either side of his face, forcing eye contact. Peter's eyes widened and he blinked furiously, endearingly abashed at the close attention. Edmund spoke quietly, but as forcefully as he dared in the quiet twilight of the city street,

"Peter – nothing you could do, nothing you could say, and nothing you could think would _ever_ make me think less of you. I swear it."

Peter drew in a sharp, deep breath and a glassy sheen washed over his astonished eyes. He pulled backwards, jerking his head around and Edmund let him go, heart pounding, but a slight smile touching his mouth as he watched his brother's back. The light was rapidly disappearing - another few minutes and they would barely be able to see each other's face. But there was time enough for this.

Peter turned back to him so suddenly that Edmund almost took a step backwards. Peter was serious still, but there was an openness in his face that Edmund hadn't even realised he had missed until now – as if his pledge of loyalty had loosened his brother's reticence.

"I...I don't deserve that, Ed, but thank you," Peter said quietly. "And...and I mostly don't deserve it because you are so much braver than me."

"_Peter_..." Edmund ground out the name in frustration,

"No...let me finish. You were braver tonight, because you said it first."

_What on earth?_

"Peter – do you mind cluing me in? What did I say first?"

The light was drawing in rapidly now and he doubted Peter could see the confusion in his face, but he surely couldn't miss it in his tone. Peter took two more steps forward, back to where they started. His blue eyes looked almost hazel in the twilight.

"I mean – what I was _going_ to tell you before we were interrupted was what you told me – only you got there first."

Something jolted hard in Edmund's stomach, which might have been shock, or might have been disbelief,

"You...wait...no...what are you saying?"

It was hard to tell in the light, but Peter looked as though he might be blushing,

"What you said about...about girls. You know, that you…"

Edmund blinked in irritation, "I recall," he interrupted with a drawl,

"Yes…well, you said what I think. I mean, that's how I feel too. Well, actually, I wouldn't have put it like that, I don't actually _hate_ girls, but you know what I mean, right?"

Blank astonishment. That was all Edmund's mind had room for at that moment. It was the last thing he'd expected Peter to say and were it not for the earnestness of his eyes, would have wondered if he wasn't being mocked. His head span with images from the past few years – Peter's laughing face, the groups of girls, the blushing looks. _What?_

"Hang on…wait a minute. No. You don't mean what I think you mean, do you?"

Peter grimaced at Edmund's consternation,

"I must have hidden it better than I realised," he muttered.

"_Hidden it? _Peter...what?"

Peter was shaking his head in bemused chagrin as Edmund tried to rein in his scattered thoughts. It was beginning to dawn on him that he and Peter shared a lot more than even he had realised.

"It _is_ what you're thinking," said Peter quietly, "and by the look on your face, it was the furthest thing from your mind." He looked at Edmund rather wistfully as he said it, and Edmund began to wonder if his brother had been torturing himself over this for far too long

With an effort that left him drained, he pulled his thoughts together and not for the first time that night, made decisions for both of them. Sighing, he tugged on Peter's arm and the tall figure followed him without hesitation up the street,

"Come on. We're going back and _you _are going to tell me all about it. _And_...this is really important, so listen up...you are going to feed me. I'm _starving_, Peter! I've had nothing but a mouthful of beer since tea.

He surprised a chuckle out of Peter at that, and his older brother meekly led the way back to Merton.

* * *

Edmund adjusted the gas flame under the battered kettle whilst keeping a surreptitious eye on Peter who was staring glumly at the cheese bubbling under the grill. He was making a pile of cheese on toast – a treat in those straitened times – and Edmund wondered if Peter had saved weeks of cheese rations for just this occasion. His stomach rumbled at the savoury smell and he glared at the kettle as though he could make it boil faster.

The kitchen was tiny and ill-equipped, provided merely to keep several Research Fellows in tea and toast, and not much else (not that any of them were capable of producing much more than that at the best of times), but it had the benefit of being quiet and cosy, with a battered wooden table, scrubbed almost white by generations of college housekeepers and marked indelibly by butter drips. Edmund had sat at the table while Peter laboured away with the bread knife, talking all the while in a quiet, hesitant voice. With the last of the bread popped under the grill, he'd been summoned to brew the tea.

"So..." began Edmund slowly, when Peter had finally fallen silent, "...let me see if I've got this right.

Despite the very large number of girls you've escorted to parties and dances and picnics and whatever – some more than once, I should point out - you've never actually courted any of them?" Edmund wondered how on earth _that _was supposed to work as he rummaged in a drawer for the tea strainer.

"It's hanging up over the sink," said Peter, pulling the grill out a little to check the condition of the cheese. "...and, no, I never really took any of them out in _that_ way."

Edmund found the strainer hanging on a nail above the dish mop and grabbed it down before turning an incredulous look towards his brother.

"But I don't understand! How did you manage that? They were practically queuing up for you!" Edmund shook his head at his memories of feeling strangely lost and bereft by Peter's popularity – the knowledge that he obviously found girls and relationships so effortless. If he'd only _known_...

Peter shrugged. He looked fairly unconcerned to the uninitiated, but kept his eyes averted which immediately told Edmund he was feeling guilty,

"Well, the first time it happened was because I didn't know what else to do! It was Edith Michaels – do you remember?"

Edmund had a vague impression of brunette curls and a dimple and nodded impatiently,

"I must have been...16? nearly 17? I can't really remember, but I'd met her a few times at that café in the High Street, you know, the one that Susan started dragging me to at least twice a week. I can't remember the name now..."

"...the _Coffee Pot_", Edmund supplied casually, earning a surprised grin from Peter and an enquiring arch of an eyebrow,

Edmund grinned back, "Lucy and I used to call it the _Gone-a-Lot_ because Susan spent so much time there."

"I see. I think..." Peter shook his head and continued, "Anyway, I used to go to be polite and stop Su pestering me. There was a large crowd there on most occasions and I didn't really notice Edith, except I suppose I must have talked to her a few times because Susan started teasing me about her."

Edmund looked up from his contemplation of the kettle at that. It sounded awfully familiar. "Ah, _now_ I understand," he said cryptically, but Peter understood him and grimaced in agreement.

"She kept saying Edith was 'stuck' on me, whatever that means, and that I obviously liked her too, and why didn't I ask her out! I remember feeling completely confused because none of those things had occurred to me at all. It wasn't just that though, and I'm not sure I can explain this properly, but it was like she expected me to be looking at all the girls I met as potential girlfriends." There was a bewildered note in Peter's voice that Edmund could wholeheartedly relate to.

"Came as a shock, didn't it?" he said quietly, knowing he didn't need to tell Peter any more.

"You too?"

Edmund nodded and looked away, absently picking at the accumulated tannin on the strainer with a fingernail. It might once have been silver plated, but years of abuse had blackened and dented it.

"Anyway, I told her I didn't want to take Edith out, and Susan just smiled and accused me of being shy, or coy, or something like that, as though she didn't believe me for a moment. After a while it became clear that my reluctance was not...normal behaviour, if that makes any sense."

It made perfect sense, but Edmund was too busy dealing with the boiling kettle to answer what was probably a rhetorical question. He poured water into the tea pot as Peter juggled with the last pieces of cheese on toast and adding them to the plateful he'd put in the oven to keep warm.

"Milk?"

"Window sill"

Edmund retrieved the jug and sniffed at the contents dubiously before shrugging and putting it on the table to join the plates and cups. They'd just have to take their chances. In no time at all, they were seated and Edmund was half-way through his first slice, licking his buttery fingers and grinning at the thought of their mother's face if she could see her boys without a single utensil between them.

"So, Edith?"

"So, Edith. I did something then that I wasn't very proud of ; I wanted to get Susan off my back _and_ stop Edith mooning after me, so told Edith that my partner for a dance had let me down and as I had tickets, would she come please, but as a friend, and I told Susan I'd asked her out."

"So you lied to both of them?"

"Well…yes."

The brothers stared at each other across the small table, curls of steam from the tea rising between them. Edmund wondered if he should have felt shock at the confession, but none came, instead he just felt sadness for the boy his brother had been, and a great deal of love. He nodded and something relaxed in Peter's eyes.

"As I said, I wasn't very proud of that, but it worked and I'm afraid to say it became a habit."

"So – every girl you took out thought they were going just as friends and nothing else?"

"Well…in theory."

Edmund had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the smirk that was building. His brother was impossibly naïve sometimes!

"Let me guess, some thought you were terribly shy and couldn't bring yourself to declare your hidden passion?"

"Er…"

"Or, maybe they thought you were suffering from desperate unrequited love for someone else, so they wanted to look after you and maybe inspire you to change your mind?"

"Ed…"

"Idiot."

Peter smiled sheepishly, "Well, something like that, I suppose." He looked down at his cup, "The thing is – they were all nice girls, Ed. It's not that I didn't like them, I just…"

"…didn't want to go out with them. I _know_ Peter. You're preaching to the converted here!"

Peter smiled slightly, but continued in a pensive voice, "Do you know, it came to me that day I took Edith Michaels out, that all those years we spent in Narnia, all that time we spent at other courts and holding balls and travelling about the place, it never _once_ occurred to me to think of women as more than friends. Not once!"

"I know"

"I don't remember that being odd, do you?"

"It felt perfectly normal to me".

There was an awful lot they weren't saying to each other, Edmund concluded, but it didn't seem to matter. It was obvious they were on the same page, and had been for a very long time. Maybe they didn't need to say everything, after all. There _was_ something bothering him, though,

"Don't you find it exhausting?"

Peter looked at him oddly, the milk jug poised above his cup,

"What?"

"All that lying to girls?"

Peter blushed deeply, fussing over his tea cup in an attempt to avoid his brother's amused gaze,

"I try not to do that anymore," he muttered eventually around a mouthful of tea.

Edmund felt a prickle of scepticism at that. He thought that Peter had been lying to _himself_ for quite a while, let alone anyone else. In fact, he suspected that Peter had been fairly caught in his web of lies for a long time. Maybe…

"Is that why you hardly ever come home now?"

He tried to keep the sadness out of his voice, he really did, but this was all so senseless! So what if neither of them much fancied going out with anyone? What was the big deal?

Peter face fell and he grasped Edmund's forearm,

"If there's one thing I really regret, Ed, it's that. I'm sorry I've been so…not there. Half the time I thought there must be something wrong with me, and I sort of…lost sight of myself."

Edmund sighed in regret, "You only ever have to be who you are Peter," he said quietly, "that's more than enough."

Peter smiled sadly back, "Well, I know that _now._"

Edmund responded with his own smile, then jumped slightly when a door slammed below them and footsteps and voices were heard on the staircase.

Peter frowned suddenly, annoyed and determined. He stood, gathering his cup and the milk,

"I don't want to speak to anyone else tonight, grab the teapot, would you? My room!"

Edmund smiled inwardly – after all, it took a king to be that decisive – and obediently picked up his cup and the pot. They left the empty plates scattered over the table.

Peter's room was a bedroom, sitting room and study rolled into one harmonious, if rather untidy, whole. He claimed that Edward Capel had used the room when he was a Fellow back in 1790s, but Edmund thought he had just picked the name out of the list of Fellows in the dining hall because he knew he'd been a first class cricketer – Edmund pretended to believe him because it was a sweet gesture. It was comfortable at any rate – much more so that Peter's undergraduate room and Edmund quickly made himself at home on a battered armchair, his feet on the bed.

Peter was still looking rather serious and Edmund had a feeling that the conversation was about to swing around to him at any moment. He'd known it was coming, but he needed to satisfy his curiosity on at least one more point.

"Pete?"

"What?"

Peter put his pillow against the bedhead and scooted back against it, kicking Edmund's legs off the bed as he did so. Edmund huffed in annoyance and immediately put his feet back up.

"Did you ever kiss any of them?"

Peter looked rather taken aback at the question, then very thoughtful.

"No…well, sort of."

Edmund really couldn't help the smile this time,

"How can you 'sort of' kiss someone?"

Peter's mouth twisted into a half-smile, despite himself,

"I mean that _I_ didn't kiss any of them, but one or two may have tried to kiss me"

"Ooh, I see. I take it you escaped with your virtue intact?"

"I'll have you know I was the picture of confused dignity, and a perfect gentleman to boot."

Edmund could see it very clearly and grinned at the image,

"Disappointed them, didn't you?"

Peter looked offended for a moment, then his face softened and he contemplated his brother's face for a while, a myriad of questions in his eyes.

Edmund just waited.

"So," said Peter finally, "is this the point where you tell me all about Margaret Hopkins?"

Edmund grimaced, his suspicions confirmed, and not really surprised that Peter knew the name. Susan and her big mouth.

"What did Susan tell you?" asked Edmund, resigned.

Peter smiled gently, "she was really very protective of you, you know," he said, "She thought I'd laugh at you for your girl troubles because I was obviously such a _Don Juan_ myself!" His tone was gently self-mocking, but the irony was certainly not lost on Edmund.

"I thought that myself, at the time" he said quietly and Peter inclined his head in acceptance and apology.

"Yes, I see that now," he said in a more subdued tone, "is that what prompted you taking her out?"

Edmund grimaced again, but at his own stupidity this time,

"I've been mocking you, Pete, I know, but I doubt I dealt with it any better! I'd been avoiding girls for such a long time, it was getting bloody noticeable. In fact, Susan said a couple of things to me that made me wonder if she thought I was…well…you know…um…" he trailed off nervously, not sure how to say it,

"Homosexual?"

Edmund winced, "Er…yes. That." Then added hurriedly, "Which I'm not!"

He glanced over at his brother, who was regarding him with amusement,

"I know that!" Peter said mildly. "It's strange, though…"

"What's strange?"

"That theory never even occurred to me. In my case, I mean. You'd have thought it would at some point – but it never entered my head."

"No, nor mine. I think I'm not used to thinking of myself as _anyone's_ potential boyfriend. It came as quite a shock when Susan started asking me in a roundabout way why I was always spending time with Mark and Geoff and _not_ with girls. I think I must have blushed redder than a tomato when I realised what she was talking about and I sort of panicked..."

"What did you say?" Peter was grinning openly at him, and Edmund tried to burn the smile off him with a glare.

"I don't really remember to be honest – I think my brain was frazzled by shock. I must have given the impression I was incurably modest and shy and could only admire from afar because Susan gave me a long lecture about how kind and noble and handsome I was and any girl would be lucky to go out with me. Honestly!"

Edmund glared in exasperation as Peter collapsed into giggles

"It wasn't funny at the time!" he complained, "It was positively humiliating!"

"I know, I'm sorry," said Peter, not looking sorry at all. "So you asked out Margaret to get Susan off your back? How is that different to what I did?"

Edmund winced inwardly and wondered how to say the next bit without hurting Peter. He sighed because the outcome was inevitable and the quicker he got it over with the better,

"It wasn't quite like that," he said cautiously and Peter, catching his tone, immediately sobered,

"What do you mean?"

Edmund took his feet off the bed and leaned forward, head bowed over his clasped hands. He was aware he looked more vulnerable like that, but didn't really care,

"I mean that Susan had got me thinking – about how...odd...I was. I'd been doing my best to ignore it up until then..."

Peter moved as though he wanted to say something, but Edmund glanced at him to keep him quiet. Peter subsided, his brows drawn down in concern,

"...and I didn't want anyone in the family...well, _you_...to be ashamed of me, or worried about me or..."

"Ed..."

"Hang on Peter, just let me say this. I wanted to be more like you – I always have done! I thought maybe I just wasn't trying hard enough or something, so I...well, you can guess."

He risked a glance at Peter who looked positively stricken. Well, that was no surprise after all, but was what Edmund had been trying to avoid all along and it didn't sit well with him.

"You asked her out in earnest, didn't you?" his brother asked quietly.

"Yes. I stupidly thought that it would be all right – I liked her well enough, and if _you_ could do it, then so could I!"

Peter sat up and grasped Edmund's knee with a faintly unsteady hand,

"Oh hell, Ed! I've really made a mess of this."

It was a heartfelt exclamation, but Edmund wasn't in the business of making Peter feel any worse than he already did, so he lay his hand over the larger one and squeezed gently,

"It doesn't matter, Pete. It didn't take me long to realise that it wasn't going to work out, no matter how hard I tried!"

Peter just looked encouragingly at him, sensing the story was not quite told.

"We went to this party one evening, and for some reason we ended up in the pantry! I'm not _completely_ naive, so I realised that she wanted to get me alone, so I...kissed her..." he trailed off, and couldn't quite conceal his shudder at the memory. He wondered what Peter made of that and when he glanced up again, his brother looked quite taken aback at the reaction, his mouth shifting into a worried frown,

"What was that for, Ed?"

This was the bit he'd been dreading and still didn't quite understand, but he forged on nonetheless,

"It...it was really...I don't know how to describe it. It was really _wrong_!"

"I don't understand."

"It reminded me of...do you remember I told you when I went to ...her..._Jadis_...?" Peter flinched, "...and I found all the Animals turned to stone and was thrown in the dungeon and saw Mr. Tumnus, and, well, you know the rest...?"

"Yes, I know," said Peter in a not quite steady voice,

"Well, the very worst thing about all of that wasn't the cold, of the fear, or the pain, it was the _wrongness_ of it all. It seemed to seep out the ground wherever she went. She was never meant to be in Narnia, Peter, and everything felt wrong because she was. It got worse the longer I spent with her."

Peter stared at him in amazement,

"You've never told me that before!"

"I didn't really realise it before – not until I felt it again. I'm not trying to say that Margaret was like the Witch – that's completely unfair, it's just that...kissing her, and spending time with her felt _wrong_. It was like..." Edmund broke off and his gazed flickered to the painted ceiling as though he could suddenly find inspiration there. An idea had occurred to him. "...it was like it wasn't just _me _that didn't want to be with her, _Aslan_ didn't want me to either."

The revelation came out of the blue, but it made everything in his mind click into place and he knew he was right. Peter must have felt the same for despite his open mouth of surprise, there was a certainty in his eyes that Edmund knew must have been in his own.

"Good Lord, Ed! Do you think...really?"

"I'm sure of it!"

"Do you think that's why...?"

"It must be."

They stared at each other in amazement. Edmund felt something relax inside him, some tension that he had been holding for a very long time. He should have been angry, or shocked or both, but all he could feel was an overwhelming relief.

"Lucy too, to you think?"

"For certain."

"But not Susan." Peter's voice was thoughtful, and it wasn't a question. He looked a little disconcerted at his own conclusion and Edmund could relate to how that felt. Susan was definitely different from her siblings in this way, and in others too. It made him sad in ways he couldn't define.

"No," he replied quietly, not sure how to express what he was feeling, but knowing that he probably didn't need to.

All that was left was the _why_ of it all. The question was in both of their eyes, but Edmund wasn't quite brave enough yet to voice it. He'd learned a long time ago to trust in Aslan and he wasn't going to betray that trust now – he was sure there was a purpose to it all, he just wasn't sure he wanted to know what that was. He gazed at his brother's familiar face and with a surge of thankfulness realised that now he had Peter back – _fully_ back for the first time since Narnia, nothing else really mattered very much anyway. _Come what may..._

Edmund's mouth quirked up in a half-smile as he took in Peter's tousled hair, his tired, solemn eyes and his earnest gaze. Edmund's smile brought puzzlement to the gaze, but he smiled back automatically, and his stance relaxed – pleased his brother's mood was improved, but unsure _why _it had. Edmund smiled more fully in affection and a strange thought came to him that the Peter who sat before him now was the way he was always destined to be. Joyful, yet serious, innocent, yet wise. Never aging, never changing. He didn't know where the thought had come from – it should have been a sinister one, but it felt like a gift and a promise...

Edmund went to sleep that night with his head resting on his brother's chest – something they hadn't done for many years, but felt like the right thing to do. He was more content than he had been for a very long time and slept easily and deeply, but he had a strange dream that he would recall for days afterwards, leaving him unsettled, until it faded from his mind. He was standing somewhere dim and noisy, Peter at his side. They were waiting for something, calmly and patiently. Then there came a noise, like wind in a tunnel, getting louder and louder until it seemed to gain physical presence and as the noise reached a deafening peak, it seemed to go _through_ them…Then there was just a white light and a feeling of weightlessness.

He soon forgot the details and assumed it couldn't be important - besides, he was far too busy to worry about strange dreams. He had his life to lead.

THE END

Sorry about ending on a depressing note, but I find it impossible to write about Peter and Edmund without throwing in some kind of ghastly foreshadowing! You can't get away from the fact that no matter what they do or enjoy or love or say, they are going to end up dead. I think Aslan 'encourages' their celibacy for precisely this reason.


End file.
